


Honey Nut Cheerios (and other breakfast foods)

by SoapyPasta



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Background Brent Bennett, Blood, IT'S NOT ALL DARK, Like he's mentioned, M/M, Mild Gore, Murder, Oblivious Ryan Bergara, Obsession, Pining, Scared Ryan Bergara, Serial Killer Shane Madej, Violence, hah, in fact there's a lot of jokes, like this is practically a comedy at some points, or if it wasn't about murder, or it would be if the author was funny, there's some fun jokes in there too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21572953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoapyPasta/pseuds/SoapyPasta
Summary: He found amusement in the irony of it all, him being the one Ryan calls for protection in the middle of the night? Priceless.Or, Shane's a serial killer and Ryan needs a new host for unsolved. It's like a match made in heaven, for Shane at least.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara & Shane Madej, Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 60
Kudos: 341
Collections: fics für lari





	1. Froot Loops™

**Author's Note:**

> This kinda started as crack because I wanted to write something less angsty but then it got a little dark, oops.
> 
> No beta.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Aww, are you admitting you were nervous? It's okay, you don't have to be embarrassed, I'm sure plenty of interns make their coworkers think they are murderers on their first day of work."
> 
> "Oh yeah," Shane grins, "could happen to anyone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Shane isn't actually a murderer fellas, don't murder. In fact, in the wise words of Shane Madej, "stop serial killing." 
> 
> On a serious note, if you find themes such as violence, gore, stalking and emotional manipulation triggering or if they aren't for you maybe don't read this? Like I try keep it relatively light but there are still dark themes, so read with caution I guess.

Heartbroken is the only way to really describe how Ryan had felt the day he found out how Brent really thought about doing unsolved.

Brent had confided in him, told him he was getting a little too creeped out during the videos and so didn't really want to co-host the show anymore. It's not that he didn't enjoy working with Ryan, or that he was acting out of any ill intention, he just wasn't comfortable. That sucked because unsolved was Ryan's baby, everybody knew that, and now this baby has divorced parents before it's even grown legs. 

Regardless, it wasn't something he could do alone, mainly because - as much as he hated to admit it at the time - he got a little freaked out too.

So when a new Intern came in with an affinity to old horror movies and murder mystery books (according to Eugene, who met the guy earlier this morning) it seemed too good to be true, especially when the guy sat down at his desk, rambling about why Dracula is the best vampire story of all time to Jen before she walked away, shaking her head and mumbling something about Twilight under her breath. Ryan could see the taller man roll his eyes. Thinks he catches him mumble, _"some people,"_ under his breath like a bitter old man.

He had a grin on his face as he turned to look at Ryan though, "Hey, I'm Shane, guess we're desk buddies huh?" His voice was comical almost, his face unnaturally over-expressive. Nerves probably, like he was trying to compensate for something. (Probably his shitty taste in vampire lore by the sounds of his discussion with Jen, but that's neither here nor there, Ryan figures.)

His grin only widened at the confused look on Ryan's face, who was, to be fair, looking at him like he'd grown two heads "I'm the new intern, " he adds in explanation as to why he's commandeered the desk beside Ryan's.

"Oh, sorry, hey!" Ryan starts, when he realises staring is just a little rude, "I'm Ryan, it's nice to meet you, I'm just kinda out of it right now I guess."

Which was true, directing, presenting and doing the research for a show took a lot more work than he'd first expected. He was exhausted, permanently. Now the longevity of his show has been thrown up into the air too, so he's allowed to be a little out of it, he'll give himself that.

'"Huh, why's that?" Shane gives him a thoughtful frown, though there's something about the look that feels a little off, his expression not quite matching the look in his eye. A glint of something, Ryan can't make out what. It doesn't matter really, the guy is just strange.

"It's gonna sound really stupid," Ryan mutters, trying feebly to avoid the conversation.

"I don't mind, I like stupid." He grins, again. Ryan wonders if this guy, Shane, is always this overly optimistic. That could get annoying quickly.

Despite himself, and completely contradicting his thoughts, Ryan smiles for the first time that day, even if it was only a short flash of white between his lips. Maybe a bit of optimism is what he needs right now, he'll admit.

"I just, I have this show right? And It's like, it's my baby, but my co-host doesn't want to do it anymore so," He shrugs, twisting in his chair, "I might have to give up on my lifelong dream of being a mother."

"Oh, why can't you do it alone?" His grin drops to a frown as he taps a newly and rather meticulously sharpened BuzzFeed™ branded pencil against his desk, clearly unfazed by the way Ryan tried to joke as some lame defence mechanism.

Ryan isn't sure he likes that, it seems pretentious almost. Acting as though he knows how Ryan's brain works within a minute of their meeting. What an asshole.

"No one's going to want to watch me ramble about murders and heists alone for ten minutes."

"Murders and heists huh?" Shane's voice takes on a jokingly critical tone, face scrunching up in what is very obviously a facade of a wince.

"See? Stupid." Ryan mumbles in a self-deprecating tone, he knows this guy is only joking but the whole situation is just _so_ unfair.

Now he has to deal with a new intern bugging him every ten minutes, _"Hey Ryan, how do you do this?"_ , _"Hey buddy, do you think this looks good? Kelsey didn't really explain what she wanted very well,"_ he's done that dance a million times before, apparently, his request to stop being seated next to interns was ignored by the BuzzFeed head office. Typical.

"That's not stupid! I'd watch that, I love murder," then, "- _cases!_ " He adds quickly, " I enjoy looking at old murder cases," He clears his throat, shooting Ryan another smile, "I don't like the act itself that would- that would be bad, it'd also-" He laughs, "wouldn't that make me like the worst murderer? Walking- just strolling around and telling my new coworkers I love a good murder."

"Right, " Ryan mumbles, drawing out the _'t',_ trying not to laugh, then he gives up, "Hey, Shane, what are you doing with that bloodied knife- oh, ooh you just- you just like holding it? oh okay, that's cool man!" he's turning the chair back to face his desk before the realisation dawns on him, " _holy shit man!_ "

Shane shoots him a startled look, his mouth was open, as though he was about to say something, continue the bit maybe.

"You can do it!"

"Do...what?"

"Be my new co-host."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Sure." Shane shrugs, turning back to his monitor and trying to prevent a smile from cracking open across his cheeks. _Perfect_. He thinks, _absolutely perfect._

_\-----5 weeks ago-----_

"I'm not sure about this Ryan, this guy's last kill was less than a month ago, he's still active." Brent eyed the large folder of research Ryan had handed to him.

"Plenty of the murderers we've talked about are still alive and haven't been caught, Brent." Ryan shrugs, not sure why this one would be any different, but it was, he knew that. He was terrified too, but the fans wanted this.

Pretty much everything Ryan did was to cater to his fans and he didn't think there was anything wrong with that, after all, they were the ones paying his bills. In the future when the show gets bigger he'll focus more on what he wants to do, until then though, fan suggestions are his bread and butter. 

"Yeah but this guy killed in LA, a month ago Ryan. Now you're asking me to go to the sight of that murder?" Brent meant to laugh, Ryan thinks, but the noise that comes out is nothing close. He just sounds frustrated, which should've been expected. He knows he's asking a lot, but ' _the_ _views man, imagine the views!'_ his producer had proclaimed in a way that suggests it's this case or no views at all. 

"Fine, we won't go to the street it happened on, we'll say in the office!" Ryan complained, ruffling his hair in frustration, he'd stayed up all night researching this. It showed, he was on his second coffee and the bags under his eyes were refusing to retreat.

"We are still talking about an active serial killer," Brent replies, ever the voice of reason, though his will seems to be flaking.

Maybe if he's persistent enough he can still push this through, though bringing it up in their meeting will be considerably harder, even if his producer is behind him. He winces at the thought of getting this plan past HR. That's where the problem lies.

"Yeah, and I'm sure he's going to watch _our_ video Brent, relax, I'm supposed to be the jumpy one. This is what the fans have been asking for."

_\-----A little over two months ago-----_

Shane huffed in annoyance as he looked at her face, cold, dead eyes meeting his. As though she was an inconvenience, nothing more, as though he'd trodden in a piece of far too recently chewed gum and he was currently trying to pry it off his shoe. He missed it again, the one thing he wanted to see, the life draining out of them, one look away and he'd missed it. The exact moment that shimmery glint, all gorgeous and bright faded completely. It's always so beautiful, compelling, he's tried to catch it on camera more than once, to no avail. He'd have to delete it anyway, the evidence isn't worth the risk.

All the blood and viscera on his gloved hands, now trailing up his forearms like some sort of disturbing tattoo sleeve, was for nothing. He'd missed it, that look he clung to, the look that reminded him how alive he was. He'd _fucking missed it._ When had he gotten this careless, this distracted?

Shaking his head in frustration he pushes his glasses back up his nose, vaguely aware of the wet, sticky and probably very red trail his finger had led up the bridge. This wasn't enough. It was never enough. He needs more. Just _more_. Always more.

He'd never liked the term _'serial killer',_ it suggests something repetitive in nature, he'd never repeat what he'd done before, that was too boring. He didn't get kicks from that. 

Knowing he wouldn't be able to escape the label though, he'd decided to put his own Shane Madej twist on things, because if he's going to get labelled he might as well have some fun with it.

After each kill, he'd stuff his victim's mouth with whatever variety of cereal he'd felt fit the situation, sometimes he'd stalk them and find out their favourite (after all he was a sucker for a good pun) and this girl? This girl with her guts hanging out and her heart sat in a puddle of blood beside her skull? Fruit loops, yeah, she was definitely a fruit loops kinda gal.

He knelt over her body as he tugs open her still warm mouth, sprinkling the cereal he'd always found a little too sweet into the gaping hole, smiling softly at the sight of blood covering her tongue. She looks prettier now, at least. He glances down, looking at her stomach, entirely torn and on show. He placed a few neatly there as well, nestled in the blood. He wants to stand and watch as the cereal soaks up her blood, losing all its colour and instead taking on a sticky crimson. He hopes someone will find her before they dissolve completely. He knows they will, he timed this.

He shuffled back to his feet, humming in satisfaction at the sight and battling the subconscious urge to rustle his hair with his bloody hands.

He may have gone a little overboard this time, just a little. But she was so bubbly, full of smiles and positivity and he so desperately longed to watch that ever so bright light fade. He wanted to kick himself for missing it, he was visiting his family next week so he probably wouldn't be able to kill again for a while. This was supposed to be special, and he'd ruined it.

He'd find someone better though next time, he tells himself, because there will be a next time, there's no questioning that. He'll find someone who puts up more of a fight, someone who leaves evidence in the form of bruises or wounds on his skin, something he can't wash away. He'll find someone to make things a little riskier.

_\------A few weeks later------_

"So you really believe in all this?" Shane asks as he gestures vaguely toward Ryan's monitor where the shorter of the two is planning how to propose a supernatural segment of the show in their meeting at the end of the week.

Ryan tilts his head to look at Shane, who's sat there shovelling toast into his mouth like it's going to run away is he doesn't get it all in, _right now_ , "what, you mean like ghosts, demons? Of course, I do."

Shane scoffs, chewing the last piece of the crust before mumbling, "I knew there had to be something wrong with you but I didn't peg you as clinically insane."

Ryan rolls his eyes, trying not to be too offended because this Shane guy seems harmless, "and I didn't peg you as some kind of burnt toast junkie big guy, yet here we are."

With a fake pout, Shane looks down at the small pile of crumbs collecting on his desk before swiping them off, "whatever, if I was going to be addicted to a breakfast food I'd at least make sure to pick a good one."

"I'd have to pick something that'd make a great _'my strange addiction'_ episode- is that show still a thing?- hi, my names Ryan Bergara and I'm addicted to eating candle wax."

Shane laughs, "Nah, I bet someone's already done that." 

"What, two people aren't allowed to be addicted to the same thing?"

"I'm just saying, it doesn't make for good television Ryan, it's boring- Barbara is going to be flicking through the channels, then she sees Mr Bergara licking candles and she changes the channel because she's already seen that addiction on season six episode thirteen and it was mediocre the first time."

"It's still better than, _'Hi, my names Shane, I like murder!'_ ", he deepens his voice to try sound like Shane's, it's an awful impression, "nobody would tune into that, murder is so last season- I've heard ghosts are all the rage now."

"Hey, cut me some slack, it was my first day! I didn't know what else to say." Shane whines, pretending to be hurt, but his eyes are still all crinkled up from laughing.

"Aww, are you admitting you were nervous? It's okay, you don't have to be embarrassed, I'm sure plenty of interns make their coworkers think they are murderers on their first day of work."

"Oh yeah," Shane grins, "could happen to anyone."

He's not sure what he expected when he joined BuzzFeed. Sure getting close to Ryan was his goal but he didn't expect to have this much fun doing it, he didn't expect to throw his head back laughing over stupid conversations - whether he was on or off-camera, because he can act for an audience but no one can fake laugher like that - yet here he is, laughing genuinely and wholeheartedly over a conversation so stupid. It's absurd.

In his first week, every word had left his tongue with this sweet, artificial taste because it was too fake, too manufactured even for him but now? There's no bittersweet aftertaste because while he might be withholding the truth a little at least his laughter is real. 


	2. Apple Jacks™

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why would you be scared, you really think this guy's gonna come after you?" Shane questions like it's the craziest thing in the world, like he wasn't just thinking of killing him.

It was a couple of weeks ago he'd found it, googling his newly dubbed name, _'the cereal murderer'_ \- he was pretty sure the news articles dubbed him that just so he couldn't have the satisfaction of listening to people make the _'cereal killer'_ joke he'd been aiming for - still, he was happy to be called anything. It's not like he planned that or anything. It's not like it meant anything. Definitely not. He wasn't upset. Not annoyed at all.

So all in all the naming thing didn't _really_ bother him (he swears), what did bother him where all the theories about who he could be, or what his true method was. They were all so wrong until Ryan. And maybe, he figured, he'd found his someone to make things a little more interesting.

He'd done his research, that was for sure, and he'd probably come the closest. His friend Brent discounted most his ideas despite how correct they were, likely because the idea that this killer was just a guy was a little too much to handle. Ryan was right though, Shane was just a guy, a guy who feels a little dead, a guy who needs to watch others lose their life force to maintain his own. He used to wonder if he was really alive, that maybe he was just a fucking ghost or something.

Ghosts aren't real though, he knew that, he was rational, scientific and ghosts were anything but. Rational, that's a word he'd use to describe himself, others would disagree, others who think killing another human is anything but logical, reasonable. They were wrong, it's an extremely logical move if you're a man like Shane. _Shane 'rational' Madej, the Cereal Killer of LA_. That has a nice ring to it.

The point though, was that Ryan was as close as anyone had ever gotten to finding him and so naturally, he wanted to meet him. You know, for science. Definitely not because the awkward, trembling laugh he gave when talking about his murders kept Shane up at night, or because that little glint in his eyes that Shane has watched drain from so many others seemed if anything a little too bright. It was just for science, and it was so easy. Too easy, really. He'd set out for a challenge, this wasn't that. He should be disappointed, he can't find it in himself to be.

He finds it surprisingly fun, taking about murders with Ryan, theorizing, getting ideas, making Ryan get all jumpy and uncomfortable. He finds it ironic that Ryan is so confident in all his theories yet the serial killer he was probably most right about was sat beside him and he has no idea. Most people are like that, he's learnt, they say they believe things, understand things but you put those said things in front of them and they are clueless as all hell. There's probably some psychology behind that. He's not sure he cares.

He was hardly subtle either, making jokes about murder, as the show developed he begged demons to kill him in the same way he'd killed or brutalised many of his victims, ripping out their heart, dislodging their spine, the list goes on.

He wonders how happy Ryan would be if he realised, if Shane just let it slip, he wonders what the joy on his face would look like when he realised the killer had been sat in front of his camera, giving him all the circumstantial evidence in the world. He almost sells himself out at least twice a day just to see that joy. That's not right though, that's not why he's here, _no_ , it shouldn't be joy he's looking for.

It's not like his killing has stopped either, in fact, around Ryan, Shane is antsy all the time, finding himself desperate for the kill in ways he hadn't before.

It wasn't just that look anymore, he found himself enjoying the hunt, he enjoyed drawing it out, making people beg and scream and _God_ , he was getting reckless, finding himself wanting to get caught, but not by just anyone, by Ryan. It'd be perfect, like some old detective flick from the '80s. It had to be Ryan.

Apple Jacks. He doesn't remember the guy's real name, just that he had an unnecessary amount of apple jacks stocked up in his cupboards. He was a short, stocky Caucasian guy with choppy blonde hair. He didn't strike Shane as an apple jacks kind of guy, he'd have gone with frosted flakes but whatever. Who is he to deny a man his last meal? Even if said man is far too dead to really enjoy it.

Mr Jack's didn't put up much of a fight. He really misjudged that one, he should've gone for someone taller, with more muscle, someone less drunk and less willing to lead a strangely sober man back to his apartment. Mr Jack's was an idiot. Ryan isn't an idiot. He needs Ryan.

By now it's getting harder to look at Ryan without wanting to pull the life out of him on the spot, he's heard Ryan scream, seen Ryan cry but it had never been because of him. He wants it to be because of _him_. His voice all strung-tight and sharp, there was something sweet in it, like sugar.

He expected it to be artificial, Ryan's behaviour on camera, he didn't expect it to have any real kick to it, so to speak. He was wrong. Ryan was the realest thing he'd seen in years. He wanted to feel that skin, under his fingers, olive turning purple under his touch. It'd be soft, like honey, he knows, they've hugged plenty of times. He knows how Ryan feels. He needs more. He needs, he needs, he _needs._

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't imagined it, his hands tightened around Ryan's throat, his eyes wide and beady, his hands clawing at Shane's desperately.

In fact, he hadn't just imagined it one way but many. He'd started dreaming about it too, slipping a knife into his abdomen, watching the look on his face as he realised he wouldn't last more than another 5 minutes before he's just gone, where all those ghosts he cares so much about go. To where if you asked Shane, he'd tell you there's nothingness, a pitch blackness. The pitch blackness that already shrouds Shane's head when he's alone.

The look on Ryan's face when he realises he's dying? That had never really been a thing for Shane, the look of realisation on his victim's faces, it never really got to him. Imagining that look on Ryan though? That did things to him he wouldn't quite feel comfortable admitting.

It'd never been like that, he didn't ever really _get off on it,_ but dragging a knife across Ryan's skin? Well, that thought had been the start of quite a few intense masturbation sessions for Shane. And _fuck_ , all he wants is to hear him beg. He feels a little sick for thinking it, which is just downright stupid because really? That's where he's drawing the line? That's as far as his twisted morals will take him?

"Shane?"

"Huh?" He shuddered slightly as he got pulled back from his intense thoughts, they've just gotten done recording their last episode of true crime for the season and Shane found himself getting bored, zoning out, imagining Ryan-

"Man are you okay? You look...hell I don't even know what you look like."

Shane clears his throat, shuffling in his seat and adjusting his glasses as he turns to look at Ryan. There's something about the way his brows furrow and his eyes drown with worry that makes all the dark thoughts sink back into the dark pit of Shane's mind, replaced with an unmistakable dipping in his stomach. _Fuck_. That wasn't supposed to happen.

It doesn't take long for Shane to realise his feelings are far more than what he should feel for a co-worker or a victim. What could he do though? Other than burying those feelings as deep as he could?

"Yeah, I'm fine Ry, just tired, but it's nice to know you care." He jokes, trying to lighten the mess of emotions he'd found himself feeling.

"Of course I care man!" Ryan punches Shane's arm softly, a grin on his face. A grin that Shane was pretty sure would be the death of him and well, of all the ways to die...

"Yeah yeah, whatever, let's just go get some lunch!" Shane exclaimed, brushing Ryan off as he stood.

Ryan's grin widened because Shane always got awkward when he said things like that and he loved it. He was pretty sure Shane was just one of those guys that struggled to talk about his emotions and that was fine. Though he did worry about him sometimes, he's caught him zoning out numerous times now and he's starting to wonder when would be the best time to bring it up.

He really did care about Shane, more than he probably should for how little time they've known each other. He figures he probably shouldn't worry about that right now though. He'd worry about it eventually, it's a problem for future Ryan.

\--------

"I'm serious! It's not funny Shane!" Ryan complains, tearing apart a piece of his sandwich absently with no intentions of eating it as he swings his legs under the obnoxiously _BuzzFeed Red_ picnic table.

This is their favourite spot to eat lunch, on a small secluded table under the shade of what could quite possibly be the biggest tree Ryan thinks he's ever seen. A willow tree he thinks? He's not good with tree types, why would he be? It's stupid he thinks, that they have a favourite spot. That feels strangely intimate. They barely know each other, he has to remind himself.

"It's a little funny." Shane snorts, shaking his head in an attempt to shake away his laughter so he can focus back on his sandwich which he definitely had intentions of finishing, he was starving. It wasn't food he was craving though.

Apple Jack's hadn't been found yet, on the floor of his apartment, there was less blood than usual. That's not important. What was important that he'd killed someone else that day, a couple of hours prior. He'd never done that before but when his first kill had gotten him more worked up than calmed down he decided to go in for a second.

The first body was found a little over an hour ago, in some back alley in the middle of the city. It was the response he was craving. The world's reaction. His world's reaction. Ryan's reaction. _Ryan_.

"No it's not I'm- I'm scared okay?" Ryan huffs, looking down, his cheeks a little flushed, Shane's heart stops for a second thinking about all the blood rushing up into them. He wonders momentarily how long it would take Ryan to bleed out if he made pretty incisions along those cheeks of his, only momentarily. Though he'd be sure to test that out on someone sooner or later.

"Why would you be scared, you really think this guy's gonna come after you?" Shane questions like it's the craziest thing in the world, like he wasn't just thinking of killing him.

"Did you see his last victim? It was practically my long lost twin brother!" Ryan had been panicking since the word had been out about the killers most recent victim (he'll let him think that for now, he can't exactly say there's another body without drawing a few suspicions) and while Shane thought it would be fun to watch at first, it was getting kind of frustrating.

"Because he was half Mexican? That's racist Ryan. You're more racist than some of the demons you think you've spoken to."

"It's not that, it's- I own that exact outfit he was wearing! He had my hairstyle! He had-"

"We are in LA Ryan, plenty of people own tight grey t-shirts and have styled black hair."

"Still, honey nut cheerios were always my favourite cereal!"

And Shane laughs outright, he knows he shouldn't, he knows Ryan is scared but he has to mock the absurdity of it all, even if he had picked out that guy and dressed him up like Ryan. Even if he had cut his hair, even if he had found out Ryan's favourite cereal a week prior just for this reason. Maybe because it was never meant to be a threat, maybe because in his mind it was some stick and twisted love letter. A declaration, an _'I adore you Ryan Bergara'._ Okay, so when he told himself he'd ignore his feelings? That was a lie. Shane Madej lying about something, who would've thought.

"I told you it's not funny Shane!" Ryan complains, kicking Shane's shin from where he's sat opposite him on the table and Shane clutches his stomach, laughing harder at the whining tone of Ryan's voice.

"Holy shit dude, seriously like stop I'm- jeez are you okay?" Ryan asks, and he refuses to admit there's a grin on his face, or that he's suddenly biting back laughter because Shane's fucking chortle is contagious.

Shane waves a hand flippantly in the air as he shakes his head, taking a few deep shuddering breaths before pulling himself back to reality, "Sorry, sorry, it's just I can imagine a murderer sneaking into your kitchen to find out what cereal you like and opening a draw only to have like a million tubs of protein powder tumble out or something- wait- what- what is it all you frat boys eat?"

"Frat bo- wait- you think he was in my kitchen!?"

_I know he was._

"Oh, God Ryan! I was just joking, I'm sure the guy doesn't even know who you are." Shane mutters, taking another bite of his sandwich. 

"It's not crazy to think he knows me, you're trying to make me think I'm irrational."

"I don't think you're irrational Ryan, just like a little spooked over nothing." His careless demeanour ever-present as he stares down at his sandwich and takes another large bite.

Ryan rolls his eyes as he watches Shane eat, "Jesus if you take a bite any bigger than that I'm worried your jaw will unhinge like a snake." He jokes, trying to lighten the tone because this certainly wasn't making him feel any better.

"You think I'm a snake?" Shane pouts, trying not to laugh at the way he drew out the _'s'_ in a hissing sound. He always found himself funny, even if he had to keep most his gallows humour under wraps with Ryan - which isn't easy, hosting a show about murder, so he slips up a lot. He'll forgive himself for that.

"No, I just think your...serpent-like."

"Are you calling me a furry right now?" Shane shoots Ryan a dramatic, offended look. He almost cringes as he makes the joke because he sounds like he's trying too hard to keep up with internet culture, which he is because he doesn't really give a shit about it but it's now his job. Still, the mock offence feels almost cheap, hell if people want to dress up as dogs who is he to stop them? It's not like he's in any place to judge other peoples hobbies.

"Snakes don't have fur, Shane." He cracks up.

"Ah, I don't know, a scaley then?" His tone is comical, he pulls a face to match, suddenly only focused on keeping the tone light, because Ryan is laughing and suddenly that's the most important thing. He really shouldn't care.

"You joke but I'm pretty sure that's an actual thing." Ryan laughs.

"You'd know."

"Shut up, Shane."

Shane just shoots him a grin.

"Are you done massacring that sandwich? Our lunch break is almost over."

Shane hums, shooting him a nod as he stands before glancing down at the barely touched sandwich Ryan goes to throw away.

"You're gonna regret that." He states, matter of factly.

"What?" Ryan furrows his brows at Shane as he tosses the food into the trash can and starts walking back into the building, Shane quickly catching up.

"I can't imagine it's easy to run from a killer on an empty stomach."

"Shane!" Ryan groans, shoving the taller man softly though there's a smile as clear as day on his face.

Shane laughs again, his head falling back as he walks blindly into the building behind Ryan.

It's true though, Apple Jacks hadn't eaten much that day and well, look where that got him.


	3. Lucky Charms™

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He shouldn't enjoy hearing his name fall from Ryan's lips in that shaky tone so much. Except he should, because isn't that the point of this whole thing? And then he gets an idea.

His head flew up, abrupt and panting, a sheen of cold sweat coating his body as he blundered over the breath getting caught in his throat. He gasped, letting a tremble take over his body as he sat, reaching for the comforter sat around his ankles. Had he kicked it off in his sleep? Had it been dragged off by someone else?

_Fuck no, no, no. Stop._

His room was far too dark, far too quiet. The only sound he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, as though it was trying to break out his body and run away. He swallows hard at the thought, squeezing his eyes shut and focusing on his breathing. That didn't help, given how damn sporadic it was, becoming more and more erratic with each drag of breath.

The man had been towering above him, a dark shadowy figure, no distinguishable features. They were an inky blackness. They'd dragged him out of bed by the feet, he couldn't move, wouldn't fight back. They took him to the kitchen. A smarter man would've lunged for something to hit the figure with, maybe even grabbed for the man's legs, fought him off.

He wasn't feeling very smart.

The man had searched through his draws, pulled a hammer out of the one he kept cutlery in - he couldn't remember leaving that in there - he'd let his leg go to search. He could've run. Then the hammer was above him, coming down with a sickening _snap_ and sudden numbness in his leg, this weird rining static in his knee - like could hear white noise through his leg. _That's impossible_ , he manages to remind himself. His only coherent thought. 

The agony came after, in both legs, so quick, so painful. Then there was a knife, also pulled out the drawer, but that wasn't right because he kept the sharp knives in the wooden block on his countertop. There wasn't time to dwell on that because the knife was at his throat, cutting a straight, sharp line.

He couldn't breathe, but he still felt alive. He sure as hell still felt the pain.

It was then he saw a hand in the darkness reaching down to his chest, fingertips resting above the left of his breastbone and sinking.

They weren't fingers. They were claws. Digging. They tore his still-beating heart clean out of of his chest, brandishing it in front of him like some kind of trophy.

That's when he woke up.

That was new, and it certainly wasn't welcome.

With a shiver he pulled the comforter up over his body, sitting up and pulling his knees up to his chest.

_Fuck, it's not real, it's not real, there's no one here._

An audible whimper left him, which he cursed himself for before quickly leaning over to flick on his bedside lamp. The light scattered across the room, leaving shadows to hang dauntingly at sharp angles and making him think that maybe the pitch black wasn't so bad after all. Maybe he preferred being blind in moments like this. Unseeing.

He wanted to search the apartment, to look, to make sure he was safe but he couldn't, he couldn't will himself up. He couldn't stop himself shaking, he couldn't stop the tears rolling down his cheeks or the incessant _'I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die'_ in his head, and oh _fuck_ , was this really where it ends?

He swallowed hard again, trying to think of anything to calm him down, ' _why would you be scared, you really think this guy's gonna come after you?'_ Shane sounded so certain that everything would be fine, as though he knew nothing bad would happen. It was comforting. _That_ , he can cling to that. But it's not enough. He needs to hear it, he needs-

He's dialling Shane's number before he can think any better of it, though he's still surprised when he actually gets an answer.

"Ryan?" The groggy, deep voice on the other end was enough to tell him he'd definitely just woke him up. Though he didn't really care, because half his stress had instantly been washed away at the sound of his voice.

"Shane." He breathes, he catches the sound of shuffling coming through the speaker of his phone.

"Is everything okay? What's going on?" He'd heard that sleep-masked tone in his voice plenty of times while they were recording for the show, but something about hearing it this time, grazed with real concern made him go all soft inside for a few seconds.

"I'm- I had-" he stops himself, because he realises how stupid it sounds, calling your co-worker in the middle of the night over a nightmare? _Jesus._ That's a whole new low. 

"Ryan, tell me what happened."

"It's stupid I just, I got myself worked up, I'm fine." He mutters, embarrassment painfully clear. He didn't sound fine, not even to his own ears.

"You wouldn't be calling if you thought it was stupid."

Ryan sighed, "I just- I don't feel safe, it feels like there's something else with me in my apartment."

"Something?"

"Some- someone, I don't know, it just feels wrong."

Shane bites his lip, shaking his head before responding, "Do you want me to come over? Search the place? Make sure you're safe?"

Ryan swallows because he wants that, God does he want that, but it's embarrassing and stupid and-

"I'm on my way!"

"Wait-"

And he's hung up, leaving Ryan sat nervously alone in his bed, his comforter his only refugee from the terror of what could be.

\-----------------------------------------------

Shane had come, searched his apartment, listened out for any ghouls and agreed to sleep on Ryan's couch that night to protect him from any intruders. He found amusement in the irony of it all, him being the one Ryan calls for protection in the middle of the night? _Priceless._

He tries not to dwell too much on the fact he jumped up and drove to the smaller man's apartment like it was a completely normal thing for him to do, how he'd spent so long searching each room in attempt to sate Ryan's fear despite knowing the only form of danger in that apartment had just walked in.

It had become a sort of a routine after that first night, their new ritual, at least once a week Shane would wake up to a call from a shaken Ryan. He wouldn't always get up and drive to the other's apartment, but he would always stay awake to comfort him.

Tonight though, things were a little different, he didn't usually call this early.

He never called this early.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

"S-Shane?" a shaky voice had called from the other end of the phone as he stood there in a strangers kitchen, blood on his latex-clad hands.

"Hey Ryan, you okay?" He spoke, in a tone as soft as he could muster, praying Ryan didn't notice how much more awake he sounded that usual. He was silently glad that his victim, still well enough alive, was gagged and tied to a chair prior to the call because if this guy has started screaming things might've become a little awkward. Just a little.

"Yeah, I just- I had another...you know."

He sighed, playing idly with the knife in his free hand, "I know Ry, it's not real, remember?"

"But he's- he's real Shane." And Shane lets a silent curse from his lips as his eyes linger on his victim, then on the box of lucky charms on the counter beside him, he shouldn't enjoy hearing his name fall from Ryan's lips in that shaky tone so much. Except he should, because isn't that the point of this whole thing? And then he gets an idea.

"Yeah he is, but we've been over this, he probably doesn't even know who you are, baby." He keeps his tone level and soft, letting the pet name slip from his tongue as though it's natural as he walks over to where his victim is sat tied down on a wooden chair. His shirt is already ripped open, blood oozing leisurely from wounds that are only skin deep. He's been taking his time with this one, maybe secretly hoping for this. 

"I-I know," Shane revels in the hesitation in his tone, the nervous trembling of his words, "I know it's stupid but-"

"Hey, shhh, shh, shhh," He hums, his tone ever soothing as he straddles the legs of the bleeding man below him, the man desperately screaming for help below a couple of layers of duct tape, "it's not stupid, you're not stupid Ry, don't say that." He smiles into the words and he lets the knife in his hand softly trail across the shaking man's collar bone, just enough to draw blood. He believes them, Ryan isn't stupid, he's just blind in times like these. Blind to what he doesn't want to see. Utterly unseeing.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the coppery scent and closing his eyes as Ryan replies, and if he listens to his tone hard enough he can almost imagine it's his blood he's smelling.

"Sh-Shane?"

He applies a little more pressure as he draws the knife inward toward the man's sternum, watching the blood pool around the blade.

"Hmm?"

_Say my name again._

"Can you- are you busy?" His breath catches, and he's suddenly worried Ryan may have heard something, but with adrenaline pumping through his veins in a way it hasn't since his first kill he's not sure he can bring himself to care.

"I- honestly Ry I'm kind of working on something." It's not a lie. A half-truth. He is working on something. A modern-day masterpiece maybe even. He doubts it, this guy is nothing special. He hasn't killed a woman in a while, maybe that's why it doesn't feel as good as it usually does. Maybe he's burnt himself out on killing men. He knows that isn't the real reason. The real reason is on the other end of the phone. Still, there's no harm in lying to himself, maybe at some point he'll even start to believe he isn't obnoxiously obsessed.

"Oh, okay that's- okay, I-" And the disappointment in his voice makes Shane dig the knife in a little deeper out of frustration. Because Ryan's voice effects him. It shouldn't. It really fucking shouldn't. Not like this.

"I can keep talking like this though, I'll stay on the phone 'til you fall asleep, promise." He thinks back to the first time he'd thought about killing Ryan, his hands wrapped tightly around the smaller man's throat and suddenly it's all he can think about. He's drowning in it, the sensations of having his hands on Ryan's skin, squeezing just hard enough to block his airways until he's sure the guy feels his lungs about to collapse and then loosening his grip just enough so he can catch one breath and then pressing down again. _Again, again, again._ He'd keep Ryan under his hands forever if he could. He'll never bore of that man.

"Are you sure? If you're busy I'll- I'll call someone else."

Then a pang of jealousy hits him, something akin to rage at the thought of someone else comforting Ryan. He lets the knife drop into his lap a little recklessly with a _pang_ , not caring about the blood that splatters across his chinos. They were red anyway. It might be completely the wrong shade but he's never claimed to care about fashion. 

"No, no, it's fine just- just talk to me, Ryan." He's sure the shorter man frowns at that because it should be Shane that's talking, rambling about irrelevant, stupid things that only matter to the two of them - like how terribly unscary all the new horror movies from this year seemed to be, and Ryan would agree, while knowing full well they all terrified him - to comfort Ryan, not the other way around, so then why did Shane sound so desperate? Why was it so fucking endearing?

"I watch- watched Paddington again when I got home fr-from work today, I'm pretty sure it gets cuter every time." Ryan starts, trying a little awkwardly to pull conversation out of thin air.

Shane rolls his eyes with a soft chuckle as he awkwardly manoeuvres his phone between his shoulder and ear so both his hands are free, "You and that god damn bear Ry," he scoffs, "the first one or the second one?"

He hears a faint, albeit shaky chuckle from the other end, it makes him shiver, "the- the second, I think- I think I've got the plushy in this room somewhere, the- the one you brought me."

Shane smiles at the memory, he'd brought Ryan a new one to keep on his desk after he'd lost the one a fan had given to him, Ryan had smiled so bright, so happy. A smile that made Shane feel warm for a few bittersweet moments.

He flexes his fingers subconsciously, bringing his hands up to the shoulders of the man below him so he can support himself while he shifts slightly, getting himself a little more comfortable, "I'm sure he'll protect you better than I could, didn't you say bears are the most dangerous mammal or something?" He thinks back to the debate the two had about whether a bear could beat a shark in a fight as his hands trail downwards, slowly as not to let the phone slip.

"N-not Paddington, I've told you before Shane, he's the only bear that isn't scary."

He hums softly in response as his hands reach to where blood had been collecting on Ryan's- no the man's chest (Chase, he thinks the man's name was? Luther maybe? Or was that the last guy?), covering his hands in as much of it as he can, "he might not be scary but I still wouldn't want to get in a fight with the guy."

He hears Ryan wheeze and a ball of pride bubbles in his chest at that, "guess we are lucky he's just a toy then huh you goof?"

Shane brings his hands to the man's throat, there might be gloves preventing him from touching the skin and blood directly but that's fine, he can live with that. He flexes his fingers, intentionally this time over the guy's skin, allowing one hand to curve around the side of his throat, squeezing softly, his thumb pressing just below his Adam's apple, forcing him to swallow.

Shane can hear his muffled screams a little louder now, he grins.

"S-Shane?" Ryan stutters over the phone, questioning the man's silence, suddenly all nerves again.

"Ryan." He states after a beat of silence, both hands coming round to squeeze properly now, tightly, just tight enough as he watches the blood on his hands paint the skin.

"Is-Is everything okay? You- you just went quiet."

"F-fine, everything's fine Ryan," He slurs slightly, distracted, losing himself because what's this? This is new. It's never felt quite like this before.

"A-are you sure?"

"Hmm," he hums softly, his eyes flickering up to meet the others finally as his hands tighten more and they are glassy with unshed tears, wide with fear and it's not- it's not right. His expressions aren't like Ryan's, no not at all.

Then that new, blissful feeling is gone, replaced with a familiar emptiness and his hands withdraw because he's wasting his time. He needs Ryan.

He huffs with frustration, reaching up for his phone - forgetting about the blood on his hands - as he finds the knife again in his lap. He brings it up, slitting the guy's throat with one quick slash, not even bothering to look into his eyes because it won't be enough, he knows it won't be enough.

He stands, rolling his shoulders and neck to let out the tension that had gone unnoticed until now, he doesn't look back down at the body, sparing a single glance at the abandoned box of cereal on the counter and he just can't care enough to even finish the job as he brings his phone up to his ear, "I'm nearly done Ry, I'll be there in forty minutes okay?"

"A-are you sure?" Ryan repeats.

"More than ever."


	4. Cinnamon Toast Crunch™

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Seriously Shane, you have a dead bug framed on your wall, I'm pretty sure that's one of the biggest warning signs,"_
> 
> _"Plenty of people collect Butterflies, Ryan,"_
> 
> _"Plenty of serial killers," ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really been seven months since I updated this huh? Sorry to anyone I left waiting! I kinda changed my mind about the direction I wanted to go with this fic but I'm back babey!
> 
> There are no graphic depictions in this chapter but I think there's one brief mention of violence so if you're somehow still reading this and are easily triggered by violence, idk, read with caution?

Okay, so maybe saying he'd be there in forty minutes was a _little_ hopeful.

He didn't anticipate the traffic, (which, come on Shane, it's LA, there's always traffic) or the fact that he had no clean jeans to put on when he got back to his apartment.

He'll have to remind himself next time that hope and optimism are traits for ignorant fools, not for Shane Madej. Nihilism looks better on him away. _Seriously, forty minutes? Idiot._

Or maybe he should just remind himself to wash his clothes more often, so there are clean jeans in his wardrobe when he needs them, but that sounds like a lot more work.

Usually, he wouldn't care, after all, it's only Ryan he's going to see.

Ryan has seen what he looks like after 48 hours without sleep, appearance shouldn't matter. He doesn't have the privilege of not caring right now, though, because the Chinos he's wearing are covered in blood, and that might not fly with one Mr Bergara.

So he settles for a pair of faded dark blue jeans he'd worn three times this week. Four times without washing isn't too bad, right? They don't smell yet, and that's the general decider for when he washes his clothes. Or if they get blood on them, obviously.

Always clean your clothes after committing a crime, or just burn them - just don't throw them away, cops dig through bins. Seriously, do you know how many criminals have been caught because the police found a weapon or a trace of DNA on an article of clothing in a bin nearby that linked them to the crime? Shane doesn't know either, but he bets it's a lot.

If getting away with murder was a subject in school, that would be the first lesson. Right next to: _don't leave any DNA at the crime scene_ and _, try to avoid taking the murder weapon with you_ , it's just another thing to dispose of. If you don't let any DNA get on the weapon then it shouldn't be a problem to begin with. Just leave it, let the police think they have an early lead.

He's going off on a tangent, none of that matters right now. _(It always matters. Always.)_

So he's wrestling with his belt, trying to re-lace his boots as he stumbles out his apartment door. He's got twenty minutes to get to Ryan's, which would be fine if Ryan didn't live thirty minutes away _without_ traffic.

It'd be a lot easier to drive if there wasn't a sneering voice in his ear the whole time telling him he shouldn't care, that he shouldn't even show up, _what does it matter if you're late Shane? He'll be dead in a couple of weeks anyway, won't he? Wasn't that the plan? Wait no, according to the plan he should be dead already._

It's hard to drive recklessly over the speed limit, try not to crash _and_ shake your head of malicious thoughts all at the same time.

_It'll be better if you don't show, he'll think something has happened to you, he'll panic. It'll be hilarious._

He inhales sharply, staring blankly ahead and praying that whoever's decided to take up refuge in his skull learns how to shut up real soon. Even if the voice is right, because Ryan panicking is always a little funny.

_But it wouldn't be hilarious, would it Shane?_

Oh.

_It's funny when Ryan is scared in haunted houses, it's funny when he jumps watching Annabelle in theatres, (not sponsored) but it's only funny because you're there to protect him. It's funny because nothing could actually go wrong._

_It wouldn't be hilarious because you've gone and grown too attached. Haven't you?_

It takes him a second to realise he isn't moving, that he's parked, windscreen facing the front of Ryan's apartment building. Huh.

His fingers ache from white-knuckling the wheel as he flexes his hands, pushing open his car door and stretching in the cooling night air.

It's a beautiful night out, stars dusting a cloudless sky that seems to flow on forever in all directions.

It's the kind of pitch-black, endless emptiness that reminds you how small you are, how little you really mean. Little flecks of light, misguiding - thousands of little lies because they look pretty, burning with an intensity that pulls you in. It's a shame that if you got close to them your skin would melt off your body.

So a sky of little liars, reflecting the world of liars below. It's that type of sky. You know that kind of sky, right? Or is it just Shane that thinks like that?

He thinks it's a pretty obvious observation.

With a sigh he rolls out his shoulders, tugging his phone from his back pocket. 12:47 am. (So a morning sky, not a night sky, technically.) And so it took him an hour to get here rather than forty minutes, but that's fine, Ryan will forgive him.

When he gets to the apartment door he remembers as Ryan's he leans down to snag at the welcome mat, turning it over and running his hand across it to find the little cut in the silicone backing, slipping two fingers in and pulling a key out.

It's ridiculous really. If Ryan doesn't want intruders in his apartment he shouldn't make it so easy to break in. But the key is still there, so he knows there's no one in the apartment but Ryan. It's also not really classed as Breaking and Entering if well, you don't _break_ your way in, it's kind of in the name.

It doesn't really matter, you can get arrested, either way, Shane just finds little technicalities like that interesting. Ryan pointed out that a lot of his interests are a little weird once, and went on to tell him he has the interests of a serial killer.

("Seriously Shane, you have a dead bug framed on your wall, I'm pretty sure that's one of the biggest warning signs,"

"Plenty of people collect Butterflies, Ryan,"

"Plenty of serial killers," Ryan had murmured under his breath, too loud for Ryan not to have intended Shane would hear it. Shane just snorted and changed the subject.)

He'd knock, but they both know Ryan isn't getting out from where he's likely hidden under his comforter until Shane drags him out. Ryan only put the key there after he started getting these nightmares about intruders.

He put it there for Shane and again, the irony isn't lost on him. He couldn't hold out from laughing in Ryan's face when he raised the idea a couple of weeks ago, actually.

("Shut up, Shane, it's not funny."

"Come on Ryan, it's a little funny." _Or it would be, if you knew. But that's dramatic irony for you huh?_ )

He shouts Ryan's name into the apartment as the door swings open to assure Ryan it's only him, again _hilarious_. Ryan really is becoming his only real source of entertainment these days. Maybe that's why he hasn't killed him yet, because he'll be bored when he does.

What Shane doesn't expect to see as he steps inside is Ryan stood at the threshold of his bedroom door with a fucking katana in his hands. He can't help the, _oh my God, he knows! He knows and he's going to kill me before I can kill him,_ that floods his mind.

He definitely doesn't expect Ryan to hand the weapon to him with trembling hands.

"Use this."

He says, like that make sense, and the possibilities that run ragged in Shane's head make his heart speed up. _Use it on you?_ Is his first thought, but he's pretty sure that's not what Ryan is asking.

"What?" He asks indignantly.

_He's right there, so close, I could just--_

"In case there's someone here, I don't want you to be unarmed."

"Oh." Shane nods, running through a circle of emotions as he tries to figure out how Ryan could state that like it's a completely normal thing to say, as if any of this is normal.

Though Shane can't really call Ryan out on his irrational habits if he's the one who caused them.

Besides, how can he focus on any of that when there's this new, heavy weight in his hands? He looks down at where he holds the hilt, barely resists the urge to pull it up and inspect the blade. Ryan will probably think that's weird.

They are sharp though right, katanas? That's kind of like their whole deal? Imagine slicing through a human body with this thing.

Surely Ryan wouldn't notice if he borrowed it some time, right?

"So can you- are you gonna..."

"Right. Search the apartment. Right."

And to Shane's merit, he doesn't mock Ryan for asking, he never does.

So he walks the length of the apartment, flicking in lights and checking closets as he goes, katana at the ready. Ryan trails behind like he always does, wringing his hands together, working up a cold sweat through thoughts alone.

Sometimes, on nights like this, he can't help but feel proud. _This is me, I did this. He's a mess because of me._ It feels good.

Sometimes, on nights like this, he can't help but feel sick. _This is my fault, I did this. He's scared because of me._ It feels awful.

Surprisingly, there is no evil murder hunched over in the cupboard under Ryan's sink, just waiting for Shane to tug it open so he can attack.

Shockingly, there's no demon lurking under Ryan's bed, waiting to grab his ankles and pull him under as Ryan shrugs himself back under the covers, shaking slightly less than before.

"Do you feel safe now?" Shane asks in the softest voice he can muster as he kneels at the edge of Ryan's bed, watching him curl up onto his side to face him.

"Safer, thank you," Ryan mumbles, painfully sincere.

Shane smiles, resists the urge to push Ryan's hair off his face where it's stuck to his forehead with sweat. _Where the hell did that come from?_

"Alright well, I'll- I'm gonna crash on your couch, yeah? Make sure no ghouls come to get you while you sleep?"

Shane goes to stand before waiting for an answer when he hears Ryan mumble, "wait, " in protest, so quiet he almost misses it. Shy nearly.

"Huh? What's up Ry, you must know there's nothing here now, right?"

Ryan, well he looks downright sheepish as Shane turns to look at him, "seriously man, what's wrong?"

"Stay?"

Shane frowns, looks at the empty space on the bed, then at Ryan, then at the empty space, "stay like, _stay_?" He asks, eyebrow raised.

It shouldn't be a big deal, they share beds for supernatural all the time.

It still feels that way somehow, _big_ , in a way Shane doesn't understand.

"Please?"

And Shane is tugging his boots off and crawling into bed before he can stop himself, before he can question his actions.

He wrestles with his jeans under the covers, chucking them, along with his belt on Ryan's bedroom floor and then just lays there.

He stares, blankly at the ceiling like he doesn't know what to do in a bed once you get there. What's the next move, after crawling under the covers?

Somehow sleeping doesn't feel right.

He's there, eyebrows furrowed at the light fixture in the centre of the ceiling - that he can barely make out against the shadows - as though it's personally hurt him.

He's there, deep in thought when he hears Ryan shuffle closer, eyes not leaving there spot on the ceiling.

He stays still as Ryans hand curls in the front of his shirt and his nose nuzzles into the crease of his neck.

He doesn't dare breath as Ryan sleepily murmurs, "thank you, Shane," against his skin.

He just lays, body rigid and eyes wide on the ceiling until his eyelids start to droop.

He wraps one arm loosely around Ryan as his eyes fall shut, and his last thought before everything slips away is that _Fuck, I probably should've done something with those lucky charms._

\--------

When Shane wakes up the next morning Ryan is still asleep, still pressed against him. There's a big part _of him that screams look how vulnerable he is, the katana is just across the room_. There's another, just as big that yells, _he's so warm, pull him closer, hold him tight and never let go._

He settles for neither, instead, pulling himself carefully out of bed to avoid waking Ryan and checking his phone.

He's got ten minutes before his alarm is set to go off, an hour and a half until they are both supposed to be crawling through the office doors to work.

He sighs, looking between his phone, Ryan and then briefly, the katana before just walking out the room. He's hungry, and breakfast sounds good. Breakfast always sounds good.

He settles on making himself some toast and a cup of coffee before he realises he should probably make something for Ryan too, that's the normal thing to do, isn't it? It'd be rude to make yourself breakfast in someone else's house without making them something too. 

Shane wonders when he started caring whether he came across as rude, but it's not weird, that he cares - he needs to keep up appearances, that's all it is. Nothing else. 

So he digs back through Ryan's cupboards again with one goal in mind - find the cereal - because he really can't help himself.

And well, he's caught off guard, because sat there, in between a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter sits a box of Cinnamon toast crunch. It shouldn't be a big deal, not really, it's just, it's not even in Ryan's top five favourite kinds of cereal, Shane knows that (because of course, he does.) So why on earth is it in his cupboard, half-empty no less?

He pulls it out, inspecting the box like it's a trap when he hears Ryan shuffling into the kitchen.

He looks up at Shane all sleepy and blurry-eyed, hair a birds nest atop his head when he murmurs, "mornin'," and drops himself down on a stool beside the island, stealing a sip of tepid coffee from Shane's mug.

Shane shouldn't ask, he shouldn't, no normal person would. It's a weird question and it shouldn't matter - but his impulse control is apparently taking a day off - because he blurts, "Cinnamon toast crunch?" in a questioning tone, eyebrows raised as the gestures to Ryan with the box. 

Ryan mistakes it for an offering, replies with a tired "sure," and an easy smile. Shane should leave it, but he doesn't, he pushes, "no I mean- I thought you were a cheerios guy?" but he still gets a bowl out and pours out Ryan a healthy portion as he talks - because not doing so would be rude, and he's already explained that, seeming rude would be bad for his image. 

Ryan gives him a questioning look that tells him it's definitely not a normal question to ask, but he answers none the less, "yeah, I don't know man, every time I eat them now I think about that poor guy that got killed," Ryan states, grimace on his face, "so I decided to change it up, try something new."

"Ah, wouldn't want to ruin the killer's bit by making him use the same cereal twice when he finally gets around to you huh?" Shane asks in a playful tone as he places the bowl in front of Ryan on the counter, pouring in some milk as he does. 

When he doesn't get a response he looks at Ryan with a frown to see him looking back, wide-eyed. 

He almost looks...scared? _Ah, right. Bad Joke._

Shane winces, rubbing the back of his neck as he murmurs, "sorry, that was in poor taste, I didn't mean to-"

"Seriously, what the fuck Shane?"

"It was just a joke- I was joking!" Shane defends, holding his hands up, palms out in a placating manner.

He hopes Ryan doesn't stay mad, He'd hate to drive to work with, then subsequently spend the day with an angry Ryan. That's no fun, angry Ryan just ignores him, he doesn't like being ignored. 

Ryan sighs, playing with his spoon and not actually eating anything out of the bowl in front of him, "just don't- you know I don't like it when you joke about this, it's serious to me."

Shane bites the inside of his cheek, he feels kinda bad about it, almost, he thinks that's what this feeling is - something akin to guilt but not quite there.

"I'm sorry," he says again, and hopes it sounds sincere this time, "I didn't think."

"It's fine, just, maybe think from now on," Ryan, and he even smiles a little when he says it, so Shane feels like he's back on solid ground. 

"Right, _think_ , that shouldn't be too hard," Shane plays into the bit, trying to clear the air, "not with my detective brain," he adds, tapping his temple in an ironically knowledgeable way he vaguely remembers doing in a video once. 

Ryan laughs, standing - his cereal untouched - as he says, "come on man, we're gonna be late if we don't get ready, you can borrow a shirt of mine if you want."

With that, he walks back into his bedroom, likely to get dressed and Shane gets the urge to sigh in relief, he won't have to deal with angry Ryan today. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been left written and unedited for weeks, but the fact that the day I actually decide to edit it and upload it is the day the boys upload a video about home invasions where Ryan mentions his katana is a weird coincidence. 
> 
> I feel like I'm being watch(er)ed.
> 
> Hah.


End file.
